
LIBR ARY OF CONG RESS. 

ChaprS^^Pyriglit No. 

Shelf_E!3rb. 
1^3^ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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^'\^S OF COiV 



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INLAND WINDFALLS 



Inland Windfalls 



BY 



Bdwin T. Rbbd 







1898, 



CHICAGO ^ NEW YORK 
W. B. CONKEY COMPANY 




tl^y.^^^w-W«-COPY RECEIVED 






Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1898, 

By EDWIN T. REED, 
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



Z7o 

71^1/ Srandmother 



CONTENTS, 



The Pioneer . 

The Debutante - - - 

The Tuning - 

Caroline - - - - 

The Lights Go Out 

In Clover ... 

The Inland City 

'Ware All 

The Kingfisher 

Pink and Dode - - - 

A Day 

If Skies Were Aught but Blue 

Greeting . . . 

Heart-Song 

The Invitation to the Road 

Wild Lilies . - - 

An Inland Lyric 

To a Little Child 

Wait a While 

A Valentine - - - 

Beautiful Days 

He and She . . - 

The Sunken Ship 

To A Kindergarten Teacher 

Two Seasons 

Annowena of Lavine 

The New Depot 

Her Best Beau - 

Later On - 



PAGE. 

II 

- 13 
15 

- 17 

18 

- 19 

21 
22 
24 

- 26 

28 

- 29 
32 

- 33 
34 

- 36 
38 

- 41 
42 

- 44 
46 

- 48 
50 

- 53 
54 

- 55 
57 

- 60 
61 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

An Elfin Sermon - - - - - - 64 

To See Her Face ------ 65 

Blossom Armies - - - - - - -67 

The Ineffable Influence ----- 69 

The River's Bridal - - - - - - 70 

A Pastoral --.----71 

Where Hastes the Sun Away - - - - 73 

October's Quest .-...- 74 

A Prayer - - - - - - -77 

Together ------- 78 

The Closed House - - - - - - 80 

The Perfume of the Forest - - - - 82 

The Monument - - - - - - - 84 

The Time that We Became Engaged - - - 87 
The Heretic ------- 88 

A Fragment ------- 90 

The Watchword - - - - - - 91 

A Requiem -------93 

On a Dry Goods Box - - - - - - 94 

SONNETS. 

The Halo Makers ------ 97 

Distance. 

Time. 

The Voice of Solitude - - - - - 99 

To Sleep ------- 100 

Hope Rekindled - - - - - - loi 

TRIOLETS. 

Life -.---__. 105 
Another -------- 106 

The Swing ------- 107 

The Husking Bee - - - - - - 108 

Pretty Maid ------ 109 



CONTENTS. 



At Sleepy Center 
A Question 
To Austin Dobson 
At Parting - 



PAGE. 

- no 
III 

- 112 



RONDEAUS. 



The Fall 
Restoration - 
Pauline Passes - 
At Vesper Hour 
SzuMOWSKA Played 
Winsome Anne 
When Baby Walked 
The Rivals 
In Secret Hours 
Retribution - 
Some Other Knight 



117 
118 
119 
120 
121 
122 
123 
124 

125 
126 
127 



IN KILTS AND PINAFORES. 



To A Lad 
Bits-o'-Auntie 
Wena and I - 
Down in Fairy Dell 
Out in Gran'ma's Garden 
My Pa's a Populist 
Them Profs of Yourn 
My Poppy's Gone 



131 
132 
134 
137 
139 
141 
142 
144 



THE PIONEER. 

The pioneer, he comes and goes 
To view his glimmering garden close ; 
From bloomy bowers at evenfall 
He hears the plaintive thrushes call ; 
He touches lightly, where he stands, 
The things he builded with his hands ; 
His lonely night is drawing near 
But moves him not, the pioneer. 

At purple dusk he sinks to rest 

By all his dearest labors blest — 

The garden-ground wherein the rose 

Beside the leafy arbor blows, 

The cheerful lane he lingered in 

To hear the sylvan city's din, 

The willowed walks, the weeping wier— 

He wrought them all, the pioneer. 

With bursting heart 'twas his to breast 
The storms that swept the mountain's crest, 
'Twas his the wilding wood to claim 
And his the spicy sod to tame ; 
II 



12 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

He checked the crowding waterfall 
And smote the scented cedars tall — 
From throbbing plain and peopled pier 
He called the host, the pioneer. 

The pioneer! — he goes before, 

The secret places to explore. 

At times, within his searching soul, 

The bells of El Dorado roll ; 

He sees with hope the hidden lea, 

The fields of far futurity — 

O ye who falter, ye who fear. 

He yearns for you, the pioneer. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 13 



THE DEBUTANTE. 

Eyes that linger, lips that smile, 
Feet that, trembling, pause awhile ; 
Hand as frank and fair, I trow, 
As the fairest flow'rs that blow. 
Hair all tossed and trimmed askant— 
Look you, 'tis the debutante. 

Lightsome eke and fair she is. 
And sweeter far than primroses, 
And like a drift of apple-bloom 
She wafts across the airy room ; 
And be she bold or be she shy, 
Admired she is of every eye. 

Tremulous, indeed, her flight. 
As the startled lark's at night 
When strange lanterns leap and nod 
Round about her on the sod ; 
Walls and waltzers look and pause 
In the debutante's applause. 

Yesterday her heart and head, 
Each unto the other wed. 
Led her, romping, wholly fain. 
Up and down the orchard lane ; 
But tonight her head, apart, 
Holds the tether to her heart. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 



Yesterday — mayhap her joys 
Were of mimicry and toys ; 
Now her laughter leaps and falls 
In the lofty peopled halls ; 
And her eyes, compliant, see 
Life's effulgent mystery. 

O elusive yesterday. 
Innocent and glad and gay, 
O tomorrow, you that bring 
Life and love and songs to sing — 
Turn your heads, behold the rose. 
Only once she comes and goes. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 15 



THE TUNING. 

For pride in the inland prairies, 

For love of my inland home, 
For joy in the dwindling twilights 

And the deep blue inland dome, 
I call my heart to the tuning, 

I touch the cymbals and gong. 
And lovingly and with favor 

I finger the stops of song. 

With favor to windy woodlands. 

To the hollows hung with green, 
To the rush of the April freshet 

In the water- worn ravine ; 
To the lonely stretch of cedars 

And the rolling length of lea. 
To the bluffs, and the burdened rivers 

That crawl to the calling sea. 

For bursts of a wilding music 

Are hidden deep in the dells 
Where the swift St. Croix thunders 

And the Flambeau feeds its w^ells, 
Or where, from the Dayton hilltops. 

As the Bridal Veil lets fall 
Her jeweled mists in the moonlight, 

The choir-like anthems call. 



i6 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

And songs of a great migration, 

And the champing chant of trade 
Are blown from the blazing foundry tops 

And the groaning freight on the grade — 
From the wharves of the white lake steamers 

That traffic trip by trip, 
From the booming logs in the inlet 

And the whalebacks in the slip. 

For a deep toned Occidental 

Who sings in the ancient east 
A prophecy for the fighting men, 

From the greatest down to the least ; 
He bids me up and be doing 

To sing of the things at hand — 
Of the timber camps in the clearing 

Or the gorges far inland. 

And so for the joy of praising, 

And so for the love I bear, 
And not by the crowning right of skill 

Or the saving grace of care, 
I call my heart to the tuning, 

I touch the cymbals and gong, 
And lovingly and with favor 

I finger the stops of song. 



INLAND WINDFALLS, 17 



CAROLINE. 

When she looks with lifted eyes 

Coolly over mine — 
Ho ! but she's my lofty prize, 

Lady Caroline ! 

When we walk at evenfall 

Blithely on the green, 
How she laughs and loves it all — 

This is Caroline. 

When she passes in the throng 
Haughty-lipped and fine, 

Like a sweet, forgotten song 
Goeth Caroline. 

But when the season's not amiss— 

None but I have seen 
How she coyly takes a kiss— 

Cosey Caroline. 

Which of her is truly mine 

Matters not, I ween — 
I was caught by Caroline 

Kissing Caroline! 



i8 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



THE LIGHTS GO OUT. 

All tlirough the length of the city street, 
Down by the wharf where the breakers beat, 
Down in the alley's dumb distress, 
Or out on the ocean's wilderness, 
Wherever the human voice is heard. 
Wherever the foot or hand is stirred — 
All in the night of dark and dread. 
With only half of the prayers said. 
With never a hint or a warning shout. 
Softly and surely the lights go out. 

The lights go out, and a solemn stress 
Comes stealing over our weariness, 
As lonely torches through the rain 
Throw ghostly glances on the pane ; 
And loath to look and filled with fright 
We peer out into the stormy night. 
Watching the faint and fitful glare 
Of the few and solemn lanterns there ; 
Till hither and thither and round about, 
All in a flurry, the lights go out. 

And oh ! how man 3^, near and far, 
These dim and lifeless lanterns are. 
And oh ! how mournfully they swing 
From creaking hook and rusty ring, 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 19 

Along the street, before the stalls, 

Or in the gaunt and ghostly halls, 

Where once their warmest glow was cast 

Over the pageant of the past ; 

Till all in the midst of the merry rout. 

With never a quiver, the lights went out. 

And how shall the lights that still remain 
Encounter the wrath of wind and rain? 
How shall they meet the hurtling blast 
That whips them into the dark at last? 
Shall it be with a flame serenely fair, 
With signs of panic or despair, 
As out of the deep and hollow sky 
The breath of eternity comes by? 
For lo ! with a leap of joy or doubt. 
From cot to castle, the lights go out. 



20 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



IN CLOVER. 

A little maid in clover walked, 
And from her fragrant pathway talked 
To birds and butterflies that sped 
Quite unafraid above her head. 

The ardent sun her brow assailed, 
Her truant hat behind her trailed ; 
And as they bent beneath the breeze 
The purple blossoms brushed her knees. 

And all the warblers in the wild 
Were blithely singing to the child, 
Who flung them, as she passed along, 
A peal of laughter for their song. 

And golden humming birds that flew 
Amongst the blossoms in the dew. 
Would poise themselves in air and pause 
To beat their wings in mute applause. 

And O unconscious little maid. 
Now running barefoot in the glade, 
May neither bramble-bush nor thorn 
E'er bring your innocence to scorn. 

But when your hair shall browner grow. 
And all in stately gowns you go, 
Oh, may you enter Aiden's door 
And live in clover evermore. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 21 



THE INLAND CITY. 

The inland city, sweet and hale 
She sits, majestic, in the vale. 
The morning mists about her blown. 
Like silken tresses round her strown ; 
Serene she sits, upon her spires 
The glint of dawn's empurpled fires, 
And from her wind- resounding walls 
The lyric breath of waterfalls. 

The inland city, down the lanes 
At evening wind the orchard wains ; 
She greets the seasons one by one. 
She plumes her splendors in the sun ; 
Through leafy vistas of her squares 
The painted host of Autumn fares 
Or wends her gardens, where to muse 
In dew-bejeweled avenues. 

The inland city, all the day 

The swallows round her steeples play ; 

In deepest calm she croons and waits 

On future eons meditates ; 

The eyes of others range the past, 

On far tomorrow hers are cast ; 

She heeds nor siren's song nor scorn. 

She mounts triumphant toward the morn. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 



The inland city, lo, she dreams 
Mid sylvan solitudes and streams, 
She smiles, and sings her serenades 
She trusts her ancient palisades ; 
Her hearth is great and wide and warm, 
She shields her children from the storm ; 
O child of grace, beyond the foam, 
O child a- wait, she calls you home ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 23 



'-^KR^B. ALL! 

Of Cymbra's eyes and Cymbra's sighs 

Ye passing heart be wary — 
An idle day and then — for aye 

A prisoner you tarry ; 
And O to you whose hearts are new, 

Ye winsome, trusting lassies, 
I bid you look upon your book 

When saucy Cymbra passes. 

For Cymbra's lips and finger tips 

Are fit for all caresses, 
And Cymbra's hair is very fair 

And brighter far than Bessie's, 
And oh ! her call is sweet withal. 

As is the quail's in barley; 
But she'd no right, the laughing sprite. 

To steal the heart o' Charlie. 

For Charlie walked, and aye he talked. 

As free as swung the willow ; 
But now his breast is sore distressed 

And sleepless is his pillow ; 
For Cymbra's laugh was like the staff 

Of bugles blowing parley, 
And gin she threw a laugh or two 

She had the heart o' Charlie. 



24 INLAND WINDFALLS' 



THE KINGFISHER. 

Bird upon the gaunt dead bough, 
Monarch of the moor art thou, 
Greedy, gross and chattering, 
Sportsman never, though a king ! 

Poised and motionless, a flash 
Brings thee to the brook, and plash- 
Out again, a golden streak, 
Luck and laughter in thy beak. 

Then away upon the wing 
To thy graceless gluttoning 
In thy dark and hollow halls 
Tunneled in the somber walls. 

Grave of face and gay of air. 
Thou art neither here nor there, 
Half a hermit, half a clown, 
Be thy crest a cowl or crown. 

Yet, recluse upon the pine, 
Treasures of three worlds are thine- 
World of water, world of air. 
And of the crags and crotches bare. 

While thou sittest calm and dumb. 
What conceits of mind must come : 



INLAND WINDFALLS, 25 



What of sorrow, what of sin 
O thou wildwood harlequin ! 



Dost thou, monk, oh never long 
For fine fellowship and song? 
Dost thou — laugh then, laugh on, if 
Thou but sway the solemn cliff ! 

Bird upon the gaunt dead bough. 
Monarch still, if monk, art thou. 
Greedy, gross and chattering. 
Sportsman never, though a king ! 



26 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



PINK AND DODE. 

Dode and Pink and Pink and Dode, 
Hail them on the distant road, 
Far from tidings, far from town, 
Making merry up and down. 

All unconsciously they went, 
Maids of mirth and merriment. 
Rosy Pink and dimpling Dode, 
Round about the quaint abode 
Where the woods were wont to sway 
In the fifties far away. 
And where — past across the hill 
Ran the road to Centerville. 

Oh, the endless dallying 
Down the corridors of spring, 
Oh, the forests deep and damp 
Twixt the crib and sugar- camp, 
Oh, the fairy faces seen 
In the winding, wet ravine, 
And the drip of every spout 
Making music round about ! 

When across the greener knolls 
June had set her sweet patrols. 
How would daring Dode and Pink 
Catch her sly and saucy wink, 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 27 

Catch her wink and whirl away 
Through the mounds of meadow hay 
Truant- wise to romp and roam 
Till the bells should bring them home. 

In the pews of Sabbath day 
What a sunny sight were they, 
Primly fashioned little pets 
All in frills and pantalets ; 
How their voices rose and fell 
Through the tunes ethereal, 
How their eyes and faces shone 
With a light not all their own ! 

Dode and Pink and Pink and Dode, 
Gayly then they took the road — 
In the fifties far away, 
Making merry, day by day ! 



28 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



A DAY. 

A rosy flushing in the east, 

A herald lark, a song, at least, 

A little mist along the lawn, 

A gush of light — and lo, the dawn ! 

A bluer sky, a twinge of toil, 
The wheat and lilies in the soil ; 
A whiff of life, a romp in June, 
A little laugh, and it is noon. 

A waning glimmer in the west, 

A whip-poor-will, a thought of rest ; 

A smile, to bear us parting light, 

A kiss, my dear, and then — the night ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 29 



IF SKIES WERE AUGHT BUT BLUE. 

M}^ dear, if all the skies were white 

And all the grass were gray, 
How very dim would seem the night, 

How dull \vould be the day ; 
No azure vault would mirror then 

The hue of ocean's tide, 
Or pillow on its breast again 

The sun in golden pride : 
A faded mantle would o'erspread 

The heavens and the land, 
The stars w^ould be to beauty dead, 

A pale and ghostly band. 

Then what should we poor mortals do, 
And what would nature mean 

If skies in hue were aught but blue. 
If grass were aught but green ! 

My dear, if all the skies were black 

And all the grass were brown, 
How much of brightness we should lack 

And how the world would frown ; 
A sable shadow would entomb 

The pageantry of earth. 
And o'er the ghostly verge of gloom 

Would flit the elves of mirth ; 



30 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

The sun and moon would sink to sleep 

With faces faint and wan, 
And pallid rays at morn would creep 

To hail the murky dawn. 

For what should we poor mortals do, 
And what would nature mean 

If skies in hue were aught but blue, 
If grass were aught but green! 

My dear, if all the skies were red 

And all the grass were gold. 
How much of beauty would have fled 

From all that we behold ; 
The purple dawn and ruddy eve 

No more would tint the hills. 
And starry night could ne'er achieve 

A balm for human ills ; 
The fields would wave in crimson gleams, 

And crimson toss the trees. 
And crimson run the rimpled streams 

Down to the crimson seas. 

Then what should we poor mortals do, 
And what would nature mean 

If skies in hue were aught but blue. 
If grass were aught but green ! 

My dear, if heaven were less kind 

And nature less in tune. 
In vain should lovers seek to find 

A tryst beneath the moon : 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 



The pines would cease their serenade, 

The heav'n-lit lamps that shine 
No more would glimpse in this dim glade 

Such happiness as mine — 
Then what assurance 'tis to know 

That earth is fair, my love. 
That all the gi'ass is green below, 

The sky is blue above. 

For what should we poor mortals do, 
And what would nature mean 

If skies in hue were aught but blue. 
If grass were aught but green ' 



32 INLAND WINDFALLS, 



GREETING. 

A frosty sky, a frosty land, 
The drooping firs on every hand, 
The mist at morn below the mill, 
The naked birches on the hill, 
The wintry weather, far and wide — 
I wish yoti well at Christmastide. 

I wish you well, and give you cheer 
That hale and hearty goes the year. 
That still you tread the crinkly snow 
As lightly as a year ago. 
And still your bosom beats as wild 
At Christmastide as when a child. 

I wish you well, for that the board 
Is loaded with the winter's hoard, 
And that the children's faces tell 
The relish of its spicy smell — 
For that the fire is-bright and oft, 
Goes singing as it leaps aloft. 

I wish your sweetest dreams may be 

Inwrought in God's reality, 

That you may dwell, if dwell you list. 

In castles of the morning mist. 

Whose lightsome pennants toss and fret 

From taper spire and minaret. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 33 



HEART-SONG. 

She is so sweet and white and wise, 
My soul surrenders to her eyes, 
And love's enraptured torrents start 
In stormy sweetness through my heart. 

And now November's thickets gray 
Are fragrant as with blooms of May 
And ev'ry voice that deigns to sing 
Is ardent as the throat of spring. 

A presence beauteous and serene 
Attends me through the coverts green ; 
As o'er the autumn hills I fare 
And breathe the topless heights of air. 

And though I gain some holy ground 
Where faint Elysian cymbals sound, 
Whate'er befall me, 'tis my choice 
To hear again her golden voice. 

For neither bells nor warbled calls 
Nor voices of deep waterfalls, 
Nor all persuasive tongues I know 
Can cleave me and compel me so. 

And still in dimmest dreams I hear 
Her tuneful raptures ringing clear; 
And still her stately soul and true 
Constrains me through her eyes of blue. 



34 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



THE INVITATION TO THE ROAD. 

"There is one of Nature's spiritual ditties, that has 
not yet been set to words or human music: 'The In- 
vitation to the Road,' an air continually sounding in 
the ears of gypsies and to whose inspiration our no- 
madic fathers journeyed all their days. " — Stevenson. 

Forever in m}^ idle ear, 
An anthem of the earth I hear. 
That bids me forth from my abode, 
In invitation to the road ; 

That calls me from my evening lamps 
To loiter by the glowing camps. 
Or follow after in the quest 
Of El Dorados in the west. 

To leave discretion far behind 
And wander where still waters wind, 
Where neither noise nor civil feuds 
Disturb the sweeter solitudes. 

And oh ! the anthem, low or loud. 
Assails me from the passing cloud, 
And ev'ry vehicle that rolls 
Invites me to the glad patrols. 

Invites me to be up and fare 
Beneath the cavalcades of air, 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 35 

To foot it far in foreign lands 
Through phantom cities on the sands ; 

To travel hither, travel yon, 
To wander on and on and on ; 
To whistle gayly, bear the load, 
And be forever on the road. 



36 INLAND WINDFALLS, 



WILD LILIES. 

I know a glade where the wild lilies blow, 

Wild lilies of the valley ; 
And fauns and fairy sunbeams come and go 

All in that wildwood alley. 

And flowered lanes and brambly pathways wind 

Where rolls the lone Eau Galle ; 
You wend them as you go at eve to find 

The lilies of the valley. 

And once a maid, free souled and calmly sweet, 

Came here at dusk to dally ; 
And gather up, dew-clustered at her feet. 

The lilies of the valley. 

What songs of birds, what warblings of the brook. 

Made glad her evening sally. 
As low she laughed and in her white hands took 

The lilies of the valley ! 

And oh, the warmth, the fragrant grace she shed 

Throughout that deep, dim alley — 
So soon to pale and leave uncomforted 

The lilies of the valley. 

Hushed is the glade ; the voice that woke it stilled. 
No more the wild birds rally 



JNZAND WINDFALLS. 37 

To note the step whose softest cadence thrilled 
The lilies of the valley. 

She chided not, though cold the Evangel's touch 

Who manned the mist-hung galley ; 
Oh, call no more ; she loved so much, so much, 

These lilies of the valley. 



38 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



AN INLAND LYRIC. 

I am no friend unto the sea, 
Its voice was ever strange to me, 
Who gave, betimes, a willing ear 
To all its murmurs for a year. 

But now the bleak and pounding shore 
My inland heart will own no more, 
And now no more I meditate 
By waters deep and desolate. 

From briny beach and floating weed 
At length I find my spirit freed ; 
By inland rivers now I roam. 
And moisty meadows are my home. 

The hills encompass me about, 
And through the meadows, in and out, 
The threading rivers lightly run, 
And glimmer in the evening sun. 

And here in April I patrol 
The Rocky Branch from shoal to shoal. 
And with an alder, trim and stout, 
Entice to shore the spotted trout. 

Or often through the rushy fen 
I seek the dim and dinful Glen, 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 39 

Where nymphs and naiads bandy calls 
Across the rocks and waterfalls. 

And babbling children, fresh from school, 
Are lunching by the placid pool, 
Wherein the glowing maidens spy 
A glass to make their toilets by. 

Through the unworked and spicy soil 
The springs of living water boil, 
And every solemn-walled ravine 
Is sweet with beds of wintergreen. 

Cliffs and the stately-stepping pines 
Keep guard along the river lines. 
And where their ranks deploy and break 
I know at length they skirt the lake. 

And oh, as often as the trees 
Are baffled in the stormy breeze, 
I clamber up along the glen 
And hide me in the Devil's Den. 

I hide me in the Den and look 
Across the valley, o'er the brook. 
Where nimble cedars leap and strain 
Beneath the beating hurricane. 

And here I sit and wait, secure, 

Till all the air is still and pure ; 

And lo ! along the homeward trip 

The neighbor woodlands chirp and drip. 



40 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

And now the blue of summer skies, 
So sweet and solemn to my eyes, 
Is matched beneath my springing tracks 
By bluer fields of blowing flax. 

And who shall say that I, inland, 
Have less of loveliness at hand, 
Than if I walked the Isle of Man 
Or dwelt in distant Yucatan? 

From off the heights there come to me, 
The splendors of a tropic sea. 
And from the clover on the slope, 
The odors of untrammeled hope ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. ^\ 



TO A LITTLE CHILD. 

You are to me an airy plot 
Of sunshine in a garden spot, 
But half afraid and wholly fair 
That stays a bit and trembles there ; 
A lissome and a lovely thing 
That lures the robins there to sing ; 
Whose hair is but a wayward mist 
That tosses where the winds may list, 
Whose laughter leaps and breaks and trills 
Like madrigals along the hills. 



42 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



WAIT A WHILE. 

When your beacon star is dim, 

Wait a while, 
Keep your erring craft in trim. 

Wait a while ; 
For the tempest's brow is lifting, 
And the rays of hope are sifting 
Through the clouds, and downward drifting 

Wait a while. 

If your fortune seems to frown, 

Wait a while, 
Keep your courage ; smile it down. 

Wait a while ; 
For the sun, forever shining, 
Lends the cloud its silver lining 
To rebuke our vain repining, 

Wait a while. 

If at evening you are sad. 

Wait a while, 
Dreams may come to make you glad. 

Wait a while ; 
Every moment helps to borrow 
More of bitterness from sorrow. 
You'll be merrier tomorrow. 

Wait a while. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 43 

When despair is at the door, 

Wait a while, 
Though he beckons o'er and o'er. 

Wait a while ; 
Drop the latch and bar the grating, 
Do not follow, keep him waiting ; 
Soon he'll pass and cease debating. 

Wait a while. 

Have you missed the days of mirth? 

Wait a while, 
There are joys not of earth. 

Wait a while ; 
For a low and lisping laughter 
Echoes 'neath each ringing rafter 
Of the infinite hereafter. 
Wait a while 



44 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



A VALENTINE. 

Blow ye winds, and lilt along 
With the burden of my song. 
While the sunbeams on the wing 
Keep it ever trumpeting. 

Lift it up, and lightly bear 
From my heart the truant air 
That was framed alone for her 
Than whom none is lovelier. 

Burden it with scents of spring. 
Summer odors, anything 
That will gently wreathe and twine 
Round my fleeting valentine. 

Waft it through the dreamy skies, 
Till the stars, with sleepy eyes, 
Shall impart a shining bit 
Of their limpid light to it. 

Then, O breezes, soft and free. 
Bear my wayward melody 
Straight to where the flowers stir, 
As they coyly nod to her. 

Sift it slyly through her hair, 
As she lightly lingers there, 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 45 

Let it tarry, and caress 

Both her cheeks with tenderness. 

Hide it in the rosy nest 
Of her dimples ; let it rest 
Where the languid lashes dip, 
Beckoning her smiling lip. 

Then, a zephyr, whisper low 
What my heart would have her know. 
Tell her, messenger of mine, 
She shall be my valentine. 



46 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



BEAUTIFUL DAYS. 

Beautiful days, beautiful days, 

How they break in on our wayward ways, 

Like a caress from the arching- skies 

Over our brows and our aching eyes, 

Lifting the shadowy veil that pressed 

Numbly down on our troubled rest. 

And shifting the burden from pain to praise 

In hearts that revel in beautiful days. 

Beautiful days, beautiful days, 

Ushered at dawn through a drifting haze 

That curtains the face of the morning, while 

The glint of the sun, like a maiden's smile, 

Trembles and tarries, and flashes through. 

And goes frolicking off with the wind and the dew 

To summon the birds to the woodland lays. 

They lilt at the breaking of beautiful days. 

Beautiful days, beautiful days, 
Warming our hearts with the sifted rays 
That fall from the skies in the pulsing noon, 
While the cuckoo's cry, and the languid tune 
Of the fluttering locust that idly clings 
To the clover tuft as he flutes his wings, 
Invite us to follow the bountiful ways 
That nature has lavished on beautiful days. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 47 

Beautiful days, beautiful days, 
Fading- away as the twilight plays 
Over the crest of the darkling hill 
That throbs to the note of the whip-poor-will. 
While the stars above in the azure crown 
Of the dear old earth look fondly down ; 
Till my heart is aflame and I feel as I gaze 
That life is a fabric of beautiful days \ 



48 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



HE AND SHE. 

It was June, the night was fair 
When this bashful-hearted pair 
Sat them down upon the stair — 

And he stared and she stared. 

Round their feet the shadows played — 
Bolder than the man and maid, 
Who were very prim and staid — 

And he stayed and she stayed. 

*'Kate,'* said he, "I'm free to own 
You're as fresh and breezy-blown 
As the hay that's newly mown" — 

And he moaned and she moaned. 

"I, alas, am quite forlorn. 

Thou, O rose, without a thorn, 

Be the bloom to cheer my morn" — 

And he mourned and she mourned. 

"Thou shalt have a cottage small, 
Morning-glories, pinks and all, 
And shall grace the brilliant ball" — 
And he bawled and she bawled. 

"Thou shalt talk by telephone 
In thy cottage quaint and lone, 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 49 

Where the lilies long have grown" — 

And he groaned and she groaned. 

"As the merry larks that fly- 
Singing praises to the sky, 
So I'll praise your hazel eye" — 
And he lied and she lied. 

For said she: "Ah, Jim, no more 
Wilt thou speak profanely, nor 
Dim the smile your lips once wore" — 
And he swore and she swore. 

As she brushed her tears away 
He continued, "Kate, I pray 
Be my wife, nor say me nay" — 

And he neighed and she neighed. 

"I'll adore you as a saint, 
Wed you, Jim, without complaint," 
Thus she murmured, low and faint — 
And he fainted and she ditto. 



56 INLAND WINDFALLS, 



THE SUNKEN SHIP. 

After over thirty years' search, during which several divers lost their 
lives, the sunken hulk of the steamer Pewabic was located last June oflf 
Thunder Light in Lake Huron. The vessel sunk while trying to exchange 
mails with a sister ship. Meteor. Her entire cargo of 267 tons of copper 
went to the bottom, and five-sixths of all her passengers were drowned. 

They found the ship ; she lay at ease 
A battered hulk in inland seas, 
Full thirty summers, fathoms deep, 
She slept her unrefreshing sleep ; 
Above, the winds and waters tossed. 
The unregarding vessels crossed, 
And happy pilgrims gayly sped 
Where once had tow 'red her figure-head. 

How grandly in her days of strength 
She rolled the inland ocean's length. 
Broke Huron's waves and with her stem 
Cut through her garment's crested hem. 
The proud Pewabic ! — Ah, 'twas she 
Who bore herself with majesty, 
Be she a speck at sea, or near 
The sounding harbor and the pier; 
Her pulsing heart within her throbbed, 
Astern the waters broke and sobbed, 
And o'er her decks in blithe accord 
■ A merry mass of people poured. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 



But look you now, the havoc here, 
The hapless end of her career ! 
Her living timbers, all aheap. 
Are tumbled forty fathoms deep, 
Her bulging tons of copper ore 
Bestrew the lake's uneven floor, 
And grimly, on the slimy stones, 
Recline the ghostly human bones. 

In cold and crannied depths she hides, 
The trailing mosses drape her sides ; 
Fleet fishes through her timbers steal 
Or flash, amazed, about her keel. 
At evening, in his clumsy sports. 
The sturgeon lounges past her ports. 
Or frolics, monk-like, through the breach 
That brought her to her sunken beach, — 
That brought her, plunging, to her bed 
Who but a moment hence had sped 
With pennons streaming, and the hail 
Of hundreds sounding at her rail ! 

For lo ! how trimly and how true 
Across the rolling stretch of blue. 
The tossing Meteor, wrapped in spray. 
Bore out the mails from Thunder Bay, 
And how supremely huge she stood. 
Oncoming hulk of steel and wood, 
With now the movement and the sound 
Of stalwart timbers coming round, 



52 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

And now the orders, piping clear, 
And loud hallooing, cheer for cheer ! 

A moment hence, and, rail to rail, 
The two had tossed the morning mail — 
A moment hence — When lo ! the roar 
Of waters and their sickening pour 
In falling torrents, uncontrolled. 
Throughout Pewabic's shuddering hold; 
Till choked and reeling, wreathed in foam, 
She plunged into her shivering home — 
With one confused and gurgling leap 
She thundered headlong down the deep, 
Where still she slumbers, locked from sight, 
Beyond the coast of Thunder Light. 

Shall come to this, O ye that ride 
Full chested on the foaming tide. 
Who with unconquered hearts today 
Confound the deep and flaunt the spray? 
Shall you too make your beds with hers, 
Ye calm, clear-eyed adventurers? 
Yet still go forth, by valor led, 
Faint not, but speed, ah, speed ahead ! 
At eve the darkling pitfalls yawn — 
Up ! and make noontide of the dawn. 
Shall midnight gape and end your way? 
Then toil ye, laugh and live today, 
Sound hard the trumpet, greet the sun, 
And live your three- score days in one ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 53 



TO A KINDERGARTEN TEACHER. 

The shivering brooklet veils in gray, 

Its harps on alders hung ; 
But, dear heart, they are steeped in May 

Who teach the timorous young. 

The sunset fades in buffs and reds, 

The blue-jay takes his tree; 
And fair young heads by downy beds 

Are babbling prayers for thee. 



54 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



TWO SEASONS. 

Across the garden, noon or night, 
I see but shifting folds of white, 
And through the orchard, first and last. 
The wildest of the winds go past. 

And here I see a rolling drift, 
And there a crest where idly sift 
The winds that whirl in snowy spray. 
To flaunt a bit and then away. 

But not a sparrow have I seen 
Nor yet a sprig of living green, 
And not a bugle have I heard 
From either blithe or sober bird. 

But now the seasons soon shall bring 
The airy splendors of the spring, 
And lo ! my desert shall expand 
Into a flowery fairyland. 

The bank where icy waters fret 
Shall blossom with the violet. 
And 'neath the deep mid- winter snows 
Shall spring, in June, the blowing rose. 

The willows, silent, oh ! so long, 
Shall burst into a world of song. 
And what is chill and lifeless sod 
Shall wave with plumy golden-rod. 



INLAND WINDFALLS, 55 



ANNOWENA OF LAVINE. 

Tonight the sun of summertime is sinking down the 

West, 
Whilst dreams of long forgotten days are kindling in 

my breast ; 
I see the purple lilacs and the phlox that used to blow 
Along the lane we often trod, together, years ago; 
I see her airy tresses and her eyes that used to shine 
When I met her in the moonlight, Annowena of Lavine ! 

For not a star that blossomed up above her in the skies 
Was half so deep or half so bright as Annowena's eyes ; 
And not a single lily-bell that decked the grassy knoll 
Was half so sweet and innocent as Annowena's soul; 
And all her heart was full of love and all the love was 

mine. 
Till angels came to woo her, sweet Wena of Lavine. 

And day by day and year by year, the angels, I could 

see, 
Were wooing better far than I and winning her from me, 
Until at last by little wiles and ways I knew not of, 
They took my Annowena and my Annowena's love; 
And now the phantoms of the night, in voices faint 

and fine. 
Are calling, ever calling, Annowena of Lavine. 



56 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

"Annowena, Annowena!" all the dewy breezes croon, 
And "Wena, Annowena!" quavers echo's only tune, 
And '*Wena, Wena, Wena!" all the woodsy caverns 

call; 
But Wena dwells in other dells and answers not at all ; — 
But Wena dwells in other dells and in the sun's decline, 
The shadows bend and beckon me to Wena of Lavine ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 57 



THE NEW DEPOT. 

A rumbling in the distance, 

A whistle through the trees, 
A thousand little happinesses 

Humming down the breeze, 
A roaring on the trestle-work, 

And then a gleam of steel,— 
And now the daisies take the wind 

And now the willows reel ; 
And now the bell begins to ring 

And tosses to and fro — 
Oh, every one to places 

At the 

new 

de- 
pot! 

For Mike is at the throttle 

And James is at the glass. 
And all the people bow to them 

And cheer them as they pass ; 
And sands are running down the pipes 

And scalding on the rails ; 
And calls are heard and hissing brakes 

And tossing out of mails ; — 



58 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

And now my lads be lively, 

Oh, speed them as they go. 
And keep your heads, my hearties. 
At the 

new 

de- 

pot! 

Coal a-roaring in the pit. 

Steam a trifle slack, 
Pulsing in the cylinder 

And singing up the stack ; 
Officers in uniform, 

Glint of blue and gold. 
Passengers are pouring in, 

Baggage being rolled ; — 
Harry, take your wagon-truck, 

Tinker, let her go, 
Ho! but here's a circus 

At the 

new 

de- 
pot! 

Faces tossing up the aisle, 
Nodding at the pane. 

Wave of airy handkerchiefs 
And calling up the lane ; 

Bess is off to boarding school. 
Bob is for the mines — 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 59 

Take a parting look at us 

And at the gloomy pines ; — 
Strange they want to tarry, 

Strange they hate to go, 
Strange we can't be happy 
With a 

new 

de- 
pot! 



6o INLAND WINDFALLS. 



HER BEST BEAU. 

When Marjory begged for some verses 

To send to her very best beau, 
She asked me to make them as airy 

And sweet as the roses that blow. 

*'And Tom," she began, speaking archly, 
"Don't mope till you've turned the last line- 

Oh, Tom ! you're an idle old teaser — 
They're meant for that best beau of mine." 

She faltered a moment, then rallied 

And pouted her red lips at me 
With, ''Tom, if you really must have it, 

You might take a kiss for your fee. ' ' 

And so I composed the love verses 
With plenty of sweetness and whim. 

And sent them — with humble excuses — 
And hoped they might please her — and him. 

It seemed that they didn't; next morning 
My paper of rhymes was returned — 

Confound such a blundering frankness ! 
At least the stuff might have been burned. 

Yet no ; for in crumpling the papers, 
Behold, in a rough scrawl of blue, 

I found little Marjory's message: 

"Don't worry, dear Tom, they're for you!" 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 6i 



LATER ON. 

We will delve in earnest thinking 

Later on, 
And we'll cease our silent blinking 

Later on ; 
We'll be free from toil and trouble 
And will soar above life's stubble — 
Until death shall burst the bubble 

Later on. 

We'll begin to serve the nation 

Later on, 
And we'll give her an ovation 

Later on ; 
For at present she's progressing, 
All her hosts are onward pressing — 
Will she need our weak caressing 

Later on? 

All our words shall brighten, gladden, 

Later on, 
Not a syllable shall sadden 

Later on ; 
Ev'ry sentence shall engender 
Feelings tuneful, true and tender — 
Till our voices, too, surrender 

Later on. 



62 INLAND WINDFALLS, 

We'll devote our lives to duty 

Later on, 
And will clothe our deeds with beauty 

Later on ; 
We'll befriend our fellow creature 
And the Christ shall be our teacher — 
Ah! but time's so swift a feature 

Later on. 

We will pause for self-inspection 

Later on, 
And we'll relish sweet reflection 

Later on ; 
We're enraptured now with pleasure, 
With its mazy, rhythmic measure — 
And the soul we fain would treasure 

Later on. 

O, we'll sing our songs of splendor 

Later on, 
And we'll each be Truth's defender 

Later on ; 
But the siren's saucy twitter 
Goads us still to pomp and glitter — 
And regrets — they'll be so bitter 
Later on ! 

All the dreams and hopes we cherish. 

Later on, 
Like the blooms of spring will perish, 

Later on ; 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 63 

All our fancies will have fleeted, 
All our plans be uncompleted, 
And our hope of heav'n — defeated, 
Later on. 



64 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



AN ELFIN SERMON. 

A Sabbath muser, still I rove 

Throughout the thrifty cedar grove, 

While down the glen, from time to time, 

The bells of churches sweetly chime ; 

And here, in coverts calm, may I 

Peruse the pages of the sky, 

And from their limpid lines, unvext, 

Select my trim and sober text. 

And here, at length, with sense at rest 

And by all odorous winds caressed, 

I may my secret soul regale 

In the sweet-smelling, flowered vale, 

And heed the quaint, hallooing calls 

That hail me from the crystal falls ; 

May hearken, through the lonely glen, 

The finer flutings of the wren, 

Or from the rocks attend at ease 

The forest's faint vocalities — 

May list with a receptive soul 

The airy voice beyond control, 

Unpious, yet in sweet accord 

With the all-seeing Overlord! 



INLAND WINDFALLS, 6$ 



TO SEE HER FACE. 

To see her face, behold, it is 
To see in airy palaces 
The misty splendors of the moon 
A-slumber in the arms of noon. 

It is to see the bine of skies 
Reflected in her azure eyes. 
The rosy morning hues that streak 
The east repeated in her cheek. 

To see her face, it is to see 

A dream of purest ecstacy, 

A dream of faint and dewy dawns, 

Of starry nights and blooming lawns. 

To see some faint mirage of bliss 
That clings to heaven's halcyon kiss. 
As humming birds that sip perfume 
From ev'ry proud or pensive bloom. 

To see her face which frames a smile. 
It is to see o'er heaven's stile. 
Where angel faces peep and peer 
From out the drifting atmosphere. 

To see her face when in repose, 
It is to see the blushing rose 



66 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

Mid banks of ferns and nodding flowers 
When washed with dews and dashing showers. 

To see the river's placid breast 
By Hly-pads and blooms caressed, 
Where flags are tossing to and fro, 
And bells and lady-slippers blow. 

Oh, what delight to see her face, 
And ponder on its perfect grace — 
Can floods of grief or tears erase 
The joy we feel to see her face ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 67 



BLOSSOM ARMIES. 

In the inland meadows, lo, 
Blossom armies come and go, 
Soldiers clad in various hue, 
Tory red or federal blue, 
Marshaled in the moorland glade 
By some billowy chansonade. 
Blown from off the showery peaks 
Where the season's trumpet speaks. 

Crocuses and daisies file 

Down the meadows mile by mile ; 

Ragged sailors, far from sea, 

Trudge in awkward infantry ; 

Buttercups in whole brigades, 

Violet hosts in cavalcades, 

Mount the slopes and charge the glen 

Taking captive maids and men. 

Bold invaders lie in wait 
Close beside the city's gate. 
Waiting secretly the nod 
Of their captain, golden-rod. 
Who in turn awaits replies 
From his picket line and spies — • 
Indian-pinks and other scouts 
In the enemy's redoubts. 



68 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

Hark! they rally now and come, 
Hear the bugle blast and drum — 
Hear the bugles, blowing sweet — 
Nay, but listen — 'tis retreat, 
'Tis retreat they call, and lo, 
See the hastening armies go, 
While behind them, in and out. 
Winter's forces flood the rout. 

Winter's forces! how they pour 
Down the clearings with a roar, 
How they charge them in the glades 
With their frosty fusillades ; 
Till the blossom armies all 
Wave their battle-flags and fall. 
In the inland meadows, lo, 
Blossom armies come and go. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 69 



THE INEFFABLE INFLUENCE. 

Now it all comes back, like a waning dream, 

With the breath of the fragrant rose. 
The dusk and the dew and the tender theme 

And the calm of the night's repose, 
The touch of her hand and the swift caress, 

The sweep of the hedge in bloom, 
The seraphim voice and the shroud- white dress 

And the smell of that faint perfume. 

And the halcyon years that have passed since then- 

They are fairer than those to be. 
For sorrow has burdened the hearts of men 

And loneliness tarries with me ; 
For a sable car and a somber train 

To the dip of the nodding plume, 
Wound slowly forth from that blossoming lane 

In the flow of that faint perfume. 

And now at the dawn and the evening hour. 

When the hedges have ceased to wave, 
I kneel by the side of the wan-faced flower 

That winnows its sweets on her grave ; 
And her face and her soul to my fancy spring, 

And no longer she lies in the tomb. 
For our spirits are one and our hearts take wing 

At the breath of that faint perfume. 



70 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



THE RIVER'S BRIDAL. 

I cannot tarry, nay, nor bide ; 
I'm wedded to the impatient tide, 
And from the sands along the sea 
The roaring breakers call to me. 

For though I loiter, though I sing, 
I am forever hastening. 
And gayly tossing toward the brine 
That sings a louder song than mine. 

That sings of ships and snowy sails. 
Of galleons and blowing gales. 
Of men and maidens rocked to sleep 
In the haunted hammocks of the deep. 

And now the elder ocean roars 
Until I tremble to my shores. 
And now his voice is far and sweet 
And leads me faltering to his feet. 

And so I'm swiftening o'er the sand, 
The eternal bridal is at hand ; 
And lo, the thunderous anthem rolls 
From out the organs on the shoals. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 71 



A PASTORAL. 

While the belfries peal inland, 
We go forth to fairyland, — 
Forth at morn and gayly fare 
Where the woodland trumpets blare 
And the elfin anthems swell. 
Sweet and clear, from dell to dell ; 
Where the blowing mists go by 
And the larks salute the sky, 
And at sunrise, far and frail. 
Sounds the shrill call of the quail. 

Still go with me, sweet, as goes 
Perfume with the unperfect rose, 
Whilst through lot and lane we slip 
In divine companionship. 
You light-stepping, Dian-wise, 
'Neath the low-bending inland skies, 
Fain alike for chance or chase 
Or the far sylvan resting place. 

Fain besides as now we wait 
Beyond the clearing's bannered gate. 
With dimpling meadows, dewy sweet. 
All daisy-dappled, round our feet, 
And hard before us, flecked with shade. 
The dim and undismantled glade, 



72 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

With tufted violets carpeted 
And leafy laces hung o'erhead, 
With singing choruses that stir 
Throughout their wildwood theater, 
Whilst here and there across the stage 
The feathered prima donnas rage, 
And lift their voices, loud and clear. 
To storm us welcome and good cheer. 

And here shall we, with hearts elate, 
Pause a bit and recreate, 
In the bosky vales afar 
Where the beauteous bowers are, 
And the plum and cherry trees 
Blossom into snowy seas, — 
Snowy seas that sweep and toss. 
Strewing snow-flakes on the moss, 
And scenting deep your silken hair 
With the perfumed breaths they bear. 
And here the wasting winds of May 
Shall through the tree-tops leap and play. 
Or fan the hollows, to and fro. 
Where congregated posies blow ; 
And shadows, down the forest aisles. 
Shall troop in broken ranks and files, 
As through the midday skies remote 
The towering cloud-bergs idly float. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 73 



WHERE HASTES THE SUN AWAY. 

Where hastes the sun away, over the hills, 

Coasting the meadow lands, dipt in the rills? 

Is it to fairyland, floating and white, 

Or to far elfindom, eerie as night? — 

Is it to Spicy Isle, where the winds pour 

And the loud waves come in, chafing the shore? 

Nay? is it none of these, with their faint melodies 

And their sweet odors? — Then tell us who wills, 

Where hastes the sun away, over the hills? 

Straight to God's granary, when the day's done, 

Down the dim corridors hastens the sun. 

Wheels up his chariot, pours the wealth in, — 

Corn from the lofty crib, wine from the bin, 

Fruit from the orchard wains, roses and wheat, 

Grown by God's alchemy, artless and sweet. 

Thus did they say and sing, birds of the wand'ring 

wing. 
Thus did they tell to me: When the day's done 
Straight to God's granary hastens the sun. 



74 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



OCTOBER'S QUEST. 

Say have ye seen go ambling by, 
A maiden straight and fair, 

The love-light in her roguish eye, 
The sunshine in her hair? 

And caught ye then the wild-hay scent 
Of meadows strewn and tossed, 

Or faint alfalfa odors lent 
By pastures newly crossed? 

And heard ye not in her low laugh 
The note the wild bird calls, 

The liquid measures in the staff 
Of tinkling waterfalls? 

Saw ye not blossoms on her cheek 

Late-lifted from the heath, 
Blown roses, stolen pinks and eke 

Pale sprays from some wild wreath? 

Saw ye no trace of that sweet time 
When autumn glimpsed the spring, 

When seasons sang a glad new chime 
Of trackless wandering? 

She promised me, one wistful dawn 
When dewy wreaths ran high, 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 75 



To nod farewell to nights new-gone 
And kiss the blush-strewn sky, 

She promised me, that leap year morn 

As coaxingly she stood, 
Unheeding low-hung limb or thorn, 

All in the sweet, wild wood, 

If e'er, as we should onward hie, — 
Two pilgrims, Shade and Shine, — 

I caught and kissed but one hand, I 
Should claim the whole girl mine. 

And then she turned and laughing went, 
A white-armed, perfumed blur; 

Whilst I, in mute bewilderment, 
Took heart to follow her. 

And still the faint breath of the rose 

Comes to me as I fare, 
And still o'er winter's drifting snows 

Stray wild-flow 'rs from her hair. 

But never in the daisied plain 

Or in the moist wood-land 
Have I yet caught or glimpsed again 

The maid's white-wristed hand. 

But still at dawn I follow her. 
At evening, aye, and noon ; — 

For I am ripe October, sir. 
And she the bride-decked June! 



76 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

Then have ye seen go ambling by, 
This maiden straight and fair, 

The lovelight in her roguish eye 
The sunshine in her hair? 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 77 



A PRAYER. 

I ask not that my pen, O Lord, 
Be mightier than the merest sword, 
Nor that my unavailing- name 
Shall ever know the glint of fame. 

But oh, I ask to have the grace 
To see my duty face to face. 
And as I pass across the stile 
To greet my neighbors with a smile. 

To gather flow'rs and sweet sunlight 
To strew by armfuls through the night. 
Or share with those who come and go 
In dungeons of unceasing woe. 



78' INLAND WINDFALLS. 



TOGETHER. 

The moon had raced the cool ravines and tip-toed 

through the pines, 
The ripples laughed, and lullabys beguiled the trailing 

vines; 
The water-lilies bowed to us along the dappled pond 
And through the darkling trestle-work the rapids 

gleamed beyond. 

A trampling in the hazel brush and tinklings on the 

hill 
Came softly to us as we dipped and paddled past the 

mill; 
And here the night hawks hovered low and touched the 

passing skiff, 
And here the owl awoke at guard and challenged from 

the cliff. 

And hoofs of horses, low or loud, beat promptly on the 

bridge. 
Or still retreating rose and fell across the moonlit 

ridge; 
While far below us, ghostly dim, the silent city glowed, 
A mist upon her steeple tops, and lanterns down the 

road. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 79 

And you were lithe and cool and free ; the skiff was in 

your hands — 
She bubbled down the crystal creek, and through the 

dewy lands; 
And so we sang with waterfalls, and so we ranged the 

sky. 
And so explored Elysian shores, my roving mate and I ! 



8o INLAND WINDFALLS. 



THE CLOSED HOUSE. 

(The House-spirit Speaks.) 

The clocks are chiming through the hall, 
The lonesome echoes rise and fall, 
And round my gables and my eaves 
The whining wind of winter grieves 

But where are all the faces fair 
That smiled at morning on the stair, 
Or waltzed in evening ruffs and frills 
Beneath my groinings and my grilles? 

And where are they whose willing feet 
Came bounding toward me from the street ;- 
Upon my shivering northern door 
Their welcome shadows fall no more. 

No more the shrilling laugh is heard, 
The music struck, the curtain stirred ; 
No more the songs in sweet accord. 
The clink of glasses at the board. 

For she whose words were kind and wise 
And she who spoke with smiling eyes 
Have fled my portals for a time 
To dwell in some serener clime. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 



And one and all have hied them forth 
From frosted prairies of the north, 
Where I in darkness still may hear 
The wolves of winter drawing near. 

The empty rockers pose in state, 
The shaken ashes strew the grate, 
And inexpressive dumb despair 
Looks out upon me everywhere. 

But soon shall winter come and go 
Again my cheerful hearth shall glow. 
And jolly lips around the blaze 
Shall tell of other haunts and days ! 



§2 INLAND WINDFALLS, 



THE PERFUME OF THE FOREST. 

Oh, the perfume of the forest, it encuinbers all the air 

Like a pulsing exhalation that is streaming everywhere. 

Like a winnowed breath of blooming sprays, a mossy- 
scented spell 

That encompasses the wooded heights and lingers in 
the dell ; 

Like a fragrant wave of nothingness that filters from 
the trees 

And goes sifting through the branches on the bosom 
of the breeze — 

A subtle smell of sweetest things that wings along the 
slope, 

A whiff of exaltation and a zephyr breath of hope ! 

Oh, the perfume of the forest, it is sweeter than the 
smell 

Of the fumy breath of incense in the Oriental's cell 

Where the heavy-swinging censers from the dimly- 
lighted nave 

Sprinkle scents of myrrh and cinnamon about them as 
they wave ; 

For not all the gums and spices of the aromatic East 

Nor the deep and drunken odors of a Sultan's tropic 
feast. 

Can vie with smells of Northern dells where honey- 
suckles toss 

And crocuses and daffodils lie crouching in the moss ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 83 

Oh, the perfume of the forest, how it filters through 

the soul 
All its lush and leafy sweetness, where the quiet waters 

roll, 
How it wafts the weight of bitterness like thistle-down 

away 
And makes the heart to carol with the robin's roundelay ; 
How it lulls the restless fancy with the deep and stilly 

tide. 
Heavy-laden with the balsam from the firry mountain 

side — 
Till these wet and woodsy odors and aromas of the sod 
Fill the heart to brimming over with a tenderness for 

God! 



84 INLAND WINDPALLS. 



THE MONUMENT. 

In St. Croix County, Wisconsin, there is a large for- 
mation of sandstone called the Monument. Though 
much reduced, during the last generation or two, by 
the action of the weather and human vandalism, it is 
still some fifty feet high. It stands quite solitary and 
overtops most of the country-side. 

Here I stand, aloof, elate. 
The white sentinel of fate. 
Through whose fringe of priestly oaks, 
Druid-like, the tree-toad croaks. 

On the long slope, stark and lone, 
Sleeplessly I guard mine own, 
Where the Baldwin highway crawls 
Down the green vale to the Falls. 

Warm and close, beneath my gaze, 
Stand the homesteads, dim with haze, 
Wrapped in silence and content 
As the calm eyes o'er them bent. 

Fieldward, sons and grandsons toil 
On the self-same, stubborn soil, 
Where, with strange eyes, I beheld 
How their kinsmen toiled of eld. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 85 

In the by-gone Mays and Junes, 
Under by-gone suns and moons, 
Here, where my lone shadow falls. 
Townsfolk held their festivals. 

Blithe and babbling, all day long. 
Stormed about my feet with song — 
All day long, or high in air 
Scaled my sides and shoulders bare. 

Ah, the young hearts of today 
Are not more unconscious, nay, 
Nor more free of youth's young gold 
Than the fine-tuned hearts of old ! 

And, ye trysting souls that fare 
Down the twilight coverts there. 
Think not that your sweet eyes trace 
Fond surprises in my face ! 

Think not though the faint blush starts 
And new raptures throng your hearts, 
'Tis the first this heart hath known 
Of fine frenzies like your own. 

Men long since, with maids as true. 
Walked this pathway, wet with dew. 
Laughed, and kissed glad hands at me 
In their new-found ecstacy. 

Where now are those blameless gay 
Who went smiling down the way? — 



S6 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

Yonder, where the white slabs gleam 
By-gone loves and lovers dream. 

Nor think still, beloved of fate, 
That with envious breath I prate. 
Though in cynic scorn I laugh 
At the swift, keen joys ye quaff. 

Deep, deep in my heart of stone 
Sweet remembrance sits alone ; 
Men forgotten, matrons gone — 
These the themes I think upon. 

'Tis not mine to chide or bless, 
Mine to sing life's loveliness, — 
Lo, the lone watch, wrought in sand, 
For the storms of time I stand ! 

Doomed and dwindling, year on year. 
Still my unbowed head I rear. 
Crumbling still, but still unspent, 
God's and man's mute monument! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 87 



THE TIME THAT WE BECAME ENGAGED. 

The time that we became engaged, the lovely Nell 

and I, — 
I recollect that everything went dimly dancing by ; 
Some incoherent sentences and phrases out of tune, 
A lot of little pleasantries that vanished all too soon. 
And left us sitting side by side and very much per- 
plexed, 
And wondering how anyone could relish such a text. 

The time that we became engaged, how strange it all 

appears, 
My little lady did not laugh from out a mist of tears ; 
She did not blush and bow her head nor let her lashes 

dip. 
Nor lift her pretty, pouting mouth for me to take a sip ; 
She did not do a thousand things that maids are said 

to do — 
Indeed, the dainty creature looked and acted rather blue ! 

She bit her tinted finger nails and looked at me as 

though 
I'd missed at least a thing or two I really ought to know, 
And though I longed to comfort her and give her a caress 
I knew 'twould only add another cloud to our distress; 
Because it seemed that everything was going from bad 

to worse, 
The time that we became engaged in writing sonnet 

verse ! 



88 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



THE HERETIC. 

Within the temple tall and dim 

In council sit the Sanhedrim, 

And from their heights austere and cold 

Apply the ruthless iron mold ; 

With bland address and blander smile 

Disguise the undertones of guile, 

And by their shrewd, designing art 

Re-shape the unsuspecting heart, 

Rebuke the spirit, and control 

The wings of the aspiring soul. 

And I — oh, shall I have the grace 
To meet the Elders face to face? 
Survey their creed, as cold as stone, 
And chide it not, but keep my own? 
With kind exclusion court the goal 
And bid my steeple-dwelling soul 
Bar up its windows and its doors 
Against my cold inquisitors ! 

For who am I, forsooth, to say 

That I am nearer right than they; 

And who are they that they should frown 

Upon my faith to fash it down? 

For oh, the Lord is Lord of all; 

By His decree we stand or fall ; 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 89 

The dearest gift of life is His — 
The gift of inner consciences ; 
Whereby the bravely cruising soul 
Hath each to its secure control 

An airy compass, poised and fine, 
And magnetized by arts divine. 
By this we gayly sail and steer 
O'er life's tempestuous hemisphere, 
And by distinct and devious ways 
We each shall weather wind and haze, 
And every vessel, first and last, 
With undismantled boom and mast 
Shall flee the reefs, shall ride the main. 
And all in twilight hours shall gain. 
Beyond the steep and starry sea. 
The harbors of eternity ! 



90 INLAND WINDFALLS, 



A FRAGMENT. 

My noble masters, greetings from the West, 
The land by lakes adorned, by streams caressed, 
The land of bracing winds and dashing show'rs, 
Of meadows green and blossoming sweet flow'rs,- 
The home of Hiawatha, strange and far, 
Enshrined in beauty 'neath the northern star. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. gi 



THE WATCHWORD. 

Ghost: "Adieu, adieu, Hamlet, remember me 

Remember thee ! thou lonely ghost 
On far perdition's moaning coast — 
While brooding memory holds its seat 
And hearts are true and pulses beat, 
The pathos of the dreamer's song 
Shall wash with tears thy crushing wrong, 
And all his musings still shall be, 
"Adieu, adieu, remember me." 

Remember thee ! thou phantoms dear 
That swayed our souls but yester-year. 
Whose consolations, sweet and warm, 
Made swift oblivion of the storm — 
Ah, ghostly friends, could we forget 
Your soft good-bye's, your eyelids wet, 
Your low, sad words of sympathy, 
"Adieu, adieu, remember me." 

Remember thee! — through memory's halls 
At night we hear your faint foot-falls ; 
In meadows green some wafted scent 
Brings back your smile, your child's content; 
Some broken song, some old refrain 
Calls up your lifted lips again. 



92 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

As when you sobbed all whisperingly, 
"Adieu, adieu, remember me. " 

Remember thee ! — O years that roll, 
O hearts that break and bells that toll — 
For thee, for thine — Ah, canst not know?- 
Our hearts are bended down with woe : 
Across the mists, across the years 
Of exile, lo, we gaze with tears. 
And each in anguish calls to thee, 
*' Adieu, adieu, remember me. " 



INLAND WINDFALLS, 93 



A REQUIEM. 

Above my brother's grave 
The tapering fir-trees wave : 

Sing low, sweet breath, 

Of the pale, pale death, 
Sing low, sweet breath, of the brave ! 

The daylight drains and dies. 
Dusk wings far down the skies : 

But the birds on the hill 

Oh, they fife with a will 
To silence my sad heart's cries. 

Across the darkling wold 
Two doves their late way hold : 

These croon of the young, 

Of their songs unsung, 
Of the halo and the hair's young gold. 

Deep down in the perfumed grass 
The west winds meet and pass : 
And they play faint things 
On their trembling strings 
Of the thin, gold sands in the glass. 

Still over the fresh, round sod, 
Tall jonquils lean and nod : 

O, perfumed air. 

Waft, waft my pray'r 
To the ears of an answering God ! 



94 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



ON A DRY GOODS BOX. 

"What d'ye think," says Mr. Flint, "what d'ye think," 

says he — 
*'A soldier man came down the pike a peltin' oaths at 

me, 
An' swearin' he was off for hell with a load o' brandy 

glee." 

"Nothin' at all," said Mr. Steel, "nothin' at all," said 

he— 
"I met a tar in Tavern Lane who'd sailed the Jasper 

Sea 
An' seen the saints along the shore as thick as thick 

could be. ' * 



SONNETS 



INLAND WINDFALLS 97 



THE HALO MAKERS 

DISTANCE. 

A little child played on an eminence 
All in the summer stm ; but in the plain 
She saw erected in the laughing rain 

A bow of rich and lovely radiance. 

So fair it seemed, her every childish sense 
Yearned toward it, and her unused feet were fain 
To leave the height and clamber down the lane, 

Where hung the bow in golden indolence. 

But far she fared and found no beauty still. 

The sunlight paled ; the woodlands high and low 
Were drenched with rain. Indeed, her way went ill, 

And she — she lost all heart and hope ; for, oh ! 
She saw no glory like the sunlit hill, 

And found no golden ballast to the bow ! 

TIME. 

In blue and brass, unrecking space or time, 
Unheeding aught but touch to left and right, 
And the one voice high rolling through the night, 

A soldier fights through dark and damp and grime. 



INLAND WINDFALLS, 



The battle's clash, like some dim pantomime, 
Flares redly round him, and fills up his sight ; 
He toils in darkness, questions not the light, 

Nor knows the paths he tramples are sublime. 

But in the after-glow of his long day, 

From Time's high vantage ground, thro' eyes grown 
dim 
He sees, above the field where ran the fray, 

A faint, far-off and sunlit halo swim ! 
And, lo ! its fringe, like flower mists of May, 

Falls in fine wisps that circle over him ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS, 99 



THE VOICE OF SOLITUDE. 

Dim Solitude, how sweet thy chiming tongue 
That lisps and twitters on the grass-grown hill, 
Lilts roundelays along the rush-bound rill, 

And sounds the tune the thunder clouds have sung: 

Thy whispered greetings when the day is young 
Pipe through the dawn and lead my pliant will 
To do thy bidding and my heart is still 

As the hushed hour when curfew's bell has rung. 

Thou art so strong, broad breasted and austere, 
My spirit trembles, groping for thine own ; 

I call to thee, and hearkening, I hear 

From out the echoing depths thy sounding tone ; 

And though I walk the night from year to year 
I hear thy voice and do not walk alone. 



100 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



TO SLEEP. 

To sleep ! — the watchword of this lonely hour. 

To sleep ! — the night winds whisper as they weep 
Their dewy tear drops. Earth has sunk to sleep 

And hushed upon her breast each tender flower. 

To sleep ! Ah, yes, where yonder pine trees tower 
My heart-wed blossom slumbers. Cold and deep 
The couch that holds her. Pale stars keep 

Her nightly vigil, and the moon's slant shower 

Flings my lone shadow on that tufted mound. 

Sweet sleep ! Could I but close my aching eyes 
And make my bed upon this sodden ground. 

Forever rest where my sad shadow lies, 
I should no more a wanderer be found 

But wait for peace beyond the star-strewn skies. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. loi 



HOPE RE-KINDLED. 

And am I now so prone I may not rise? 

Have I slipped off the threshold of the morn 
Into that night to which in stealth are borne 

The slave of greed, the wasted soul that flies 

From the chaste gaze of mute and honest eyes? 
And must I there sit helpless and forlorn, 
Unknown to hope, and moved alone by scorn 

Which knows no heaven and grants no earthly prize? 

I feel the veil of gloom about me drawn 
And closely wound around me in the dark 

Till ev'ry feeble ray of light is gone — 

And yet, not all ; for through the gloom a spark 

Re-kindles my horizon into dawn. 
And in the flaming skies I hear the lark ! 



TRIOLETS 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 105 



LIFE. 

O, Life's but a bloom 

In a sweet-scented palace! 

All its Hopes are perfume — 

O, Life's but a bloom! 

And it laughs at the gloom, 

Drinking Love's brimming chalice: 

O, Life's but a bloom 

In a sweet-scented palace. 



io6 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



ANOTHER; 

I gave him a kiss 

And he asked for another — 
'Twas nothing amiss 
To give him 07ie kiss ; 
But the freedom of bliss, 

I was destined to smother: 
I gave him a kiss, 

And he asked for another ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 107 



THE SWING. 

'Twas a sweet night in June 

With the swing hanging lonely, 
And the dance all in tune— 
'Twas a sweet night in June — 
And beneath the fair moon 

Were we two and we only — 
'Twas a sweet night in June 

With the swing hanging lonely. 

But no rest had the swing 

For a tired head and shoulder — 
'Twas the awkwardest thing — 
But no rest had the swing 
And I saw roses spring 

As my arm grew the bolder — 
But no rest had the swing 

For a tired head and shoulder! 



io8 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



THE HUSKING BEE. 

Hark ! how the smoky rafters ring — 
And oh, the corn is flashing yellow, 

The laughing maidens loudly sing, 

Hark! how the smoky rafters ring; 

And Jed must have his teasing fling 

Till Jennie's cheeks are rosy mellow, 

Hark ! how the smoky rafters ring — 
And oh, the corn is flashing yellow. 

The fates have favored roaring Jed, 

Whom chooses he from all the misses? 

He flaimts a polished ear of red. 

The fates have favored roaring Jed ; 

And ere that Jennie's fairly fled. 

She's yielding up her kindest kisses — 

The fates have favored roaring Jed, 

Whom chooses he from all the misses? 



INLAND WINDFALLS, log 



PRETTY MAID. 

Pretty maid at the door, 

Very shy, so I kissed her; 

And she sighed — 'twas for more — 

Pretty maid at the door ; 

Bnt, alas ! my Lenore — 

For the first time, I missed her! 

Pretty maid at the door 

Very shy, so I kissed her. 

Pretty maid at the door, 

I am sad since I kissed her, 

Though she blushed o'er and o'er. 

Pretty maid at the door ; 

For how, pray, should I know'er 
As Lenore's little sister? 

Pretty maid at the door, 

I am sad since I kissed her. 



no INLAND WINDFALLS. 



AT SLEEPY CENTER. 

There's a trunkful or so 

Of my gay party dresses 

Silks and laces, cut low, 

There's a trunkful or so; 

But they'll languish, I trow, 
In their sunless recesses — 

There's a trunkful or so 

Of my gay party dresses! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. in 



A QUESTION. 

She smiles with her eyes, 

Are they cold or caressing? 
*Tis hard to surmise, 
She smiles with her eyes ; 
But no stars in the skies 

Are so sweetly distressing- 
She smiles with her eyes, 

Are they cold or caressing? 



112 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



TO AUSTIN DOBSON. 

There's a spell in your rhyme 

Like the scent of sweet roses — 
All the birds sing the chime . 
*' There's a spell in your rhyme!" 
'Tis the breath of Old Time 

With its vows and pressed posies- 
There 's a spell in your rhyme 

Like the scent of sweet roses ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS, 113 



AT PARTING. 

She tossed the red rose 

With a blown kiss at parting, — 
How smart the wind blows! 
She tossed the red rose — 
Confound the wind's woes! 

How they set the tears starting; 
She tossed the red rose 

With a blown kiss at parting. 



RONDEAUS 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 117 



THE FALL. 

I fell at last, although full well 
And long I'd fought the witching spell 
That oft beset me as I strayed, 
At will, through all the star-lit glade 
Where Ruth and Amaryllis dwell. 

But how I lost I cannot tell ; 
Swift arrows pierced my breast pell-mell, 
And, reft of heart and quite afraid, 
I fell at last. 

And such a fall ! No more shall swell 
The battle chant, the tolling knell! 

By gentler passions now I'm swayed 
On gentler pipes my tunes are played ; 
For deep in love with witching Belle 
I fell at last! 



ii8 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



RESTORATION. 

I have no heart these later days 

To follow all the wilding ways 
I loved of yore ; nor yet to dip 
My goblet in those founts that drip 

With wines we quaffed in early Mays. 

For all the sweets that others praise — 
A twilight hour, a moonlit maze, 

The honey of some laughing lip— 
I have no heart. 

Your face alone inspires my lays. 
No name but thine my songs upraise ; 
I claim you, sweet, and warmly grip 
These hands that through my fingers slip, 
For since I met your sweet, shy gaze 
I have no heart ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 119 



PAULINE PASSES. 

Pauline will pass, ere twilight wane, 
Along this balsam freighted lane, 

Far down the vista fringed with fir, 
Like some enchanting, cloud-like blur. 
She comes as soft as summer rain. 

And I, who know the lift and stir 
Of her light footsteps, wait for her, 
Although perchance with chill disdain 
Pauline will pass. 

And yet— she smiles with dimples twain. 
And bows, as bows the waving grain — 
She smiles, and while my eyes demur 
To change to sights unlovelier 
My heart still croons that sly refrain, 
*' Pauline will pass!" 



120 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



AT VESPER HOUR. 

At Vesper hour when Grace is there 
With eyes demure and forehead fair, 
With hair so aptly tossed astray 
Whereon the netted sunbeams play — 
How brief the hymn, how short the prayer! 

An unseen essence haunts the air. 
And e'en the anthem seems to bear 
A more melodious roundelay 
At Vesper hour. 

The angels all are well aware 
She hath no taint of guilty care, 
Yet pensively she bows to pray 
And moves my wayward heart to say : 
*' Would I her suppliant theme may share" 
At Vesper hour. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 



SZUMOWSKA PLAYED. 

Szumowska played, and lo, we sat 
In mutest rapture wond'ring at 

The melody she deftly flung 

From ev'ry string that sobbed and sung 
As if its heart would break with that. 

In major chord, in sharp or flat 
(To me the terms are merest chat). 

In whispered sigh or soaring tongue, 
Szumo\vska played ! 

The keys went tripping pitty-pat, 

As if they trod a velvet mat — 

Then oh ! the sounding bells that swung 
To every touch, and roundly rung — 

As 'twere some grand magnificat 
Szumowska played. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 



WINSOME ANNE. 

O winsome Anne, I prithee be 

Forever fair, forever free, 

And with your heart and hopes as light 
As in the waltzes bird-like flight. 

Where now you foot it fast with me. 

And may your motions be to see 
As lovely as the living tree 

And win you hearts and hands at sight, 
O winsome Anne. 

And when you use for earnest fee 

These lips that pout engagingly, 

Oh, may you give to no poor wight 

The hand should crown the courtly knight 

Disdain the knave on bended knee, 
Oh, win some man! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 123 



WHEN BABY WALKED. 

When baby walked, we circled round 
And cheered, while she so chastely gowned 
Went toddling off from papa's knee 
To mamma's arms held coaxingly — 
Heigh-o! the merry sight and sound! 

Anon the buoyant step and bound. 
The crooning laugh ; for here was found 
The ecstacy of being free, 

When baby walked. 

No angry fortune could have frowned 

Upon an effort so renowned 

As blushing baby made, while we — 
We arched our necks or kneeled to see 

The happy floor ; 'twas tender ground 
When baby walked. 



[24 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



HER ROYAL ROBES. 

Snug winter raps at sundry panes, 
And cries, "What ho! the autumn wanes; 
Look to your fires, the days begin 
When all my piping troop shall win 
Dominion o'er your lakes and lanes!" 

And lo ! how pale the winsome plains 
At tinkling of those icy chains. 

As with her faint and frosty din, 
Snug winter raps. 

Yet deep within her fair domains, 

I know a roguish rival reigns, 

Indeed, such homage ne'er hath been 
As sweet Nerilla's blushes win 

When'er she wears among her swains — 
Snug winter wraps ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 125 



IN SECRET HOURS. 

In secret hours, what sweet guitar 
Rings out beneath the evening star, 
What confidences mute and meet, 
And coy caresses less discreet, 
What voices at the window bar ! 

No tongue to tell nor mirth to mar — 
Heigh-o ! to hold your Avatar 

In coUocutions low and sweet 
In secret hours ! 

Though master Cupid calls afar 
And holds his golden gates ajar, 

I'm sure the lad's a laughing cheat, 
He has no raptures more complete 
Nor cozier, dear Jane, than are 
In secret ours! 



126 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



RETRIBUTION. 

''Oh, just a Count," her lips declare, 
With meek rebuke and languid air : 

'Tis just a Count whose sweet concessions 
Have battered all my fair confessions 
And sent me tramping with despair ! 

Who now, instead of me, shall share — 
A trifle, yea, 'tis so, I swear! 

Her fickle heart and firm possessions, 
Qh, just a Count ! 

My very Muse, so wont to spare 
My faults and whims, my lightest care. 
From her neglect, in anger, freshens. 
Upbraids me for my past transgressions 
And cries in numbers full and fair 
Oh, just account!" 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 127 



SOME OTHER NIGHT. 

Some other night, you say, shall find 
Your hand, your heart, your lips more kind, 

Shall see your eyes — deep pools of splendor- 
Afire with lights more mild and tender, 
Your voice and ear to love inclined. 

And hence you bid me : "Be resigned, 
Keep courage in your heart enshrined, 
And wait, or prove a vain pretender 
Some other night." 

Ah, yes, my love has long been blind ; 
It wakes tonight, no more maligned — 

It wakes and bids my feet surrender 

To other feet upon this fender : 
Alas, 'tis plain you have in mind 
Some other knight ! 



IN KILTS AND PINAFORES 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 131 



TO A LAD. 

(With a Riding Whip.) 

Now, my little lad, to horse ! 

Take your leave, and try your course, 

Clad in armor and bedight 

Like to any feudal knight, 

With a broom to pierce your man 

And for shield a patty-pan ! 



Ply your lash and dash away 
To the pleasant lands of play, 
Where the mounted soldiers prance 
Down the turnpike, sword and lance, 
And the princesses and peers 
Shake the palace walls with cheers. 

Fare you fast, my lad, and go 
Where the giant bean-stalks grow, 
And the paper lanterns toss 
Up and down the roads you cross, 
Where the blunder-busses crack 
And banditti bar you track. 

When at length you tire of this 
And are fain for sister's kiss. 
When no more you wish to roam, 
Turn your horse and hasten home — 
There to tie your swords and things 
To your mamma's apron strings! 



132 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



BITS-O'-AUNTIE. 

I leave my toys tonight and fare 
Across the wall and through the square, 
Among the maples and around 
The cottage in the garden ground, 
Where Bits-o'-Auntie, sweet and still, 
Will hail me from the window sill. 

At times she waits me where at ease 

She dips the music from the keys. 

Bemuses me with airy grace 

And fills with glory all the place ; — 

She makes me happy through and through, 

Heigh-o for tiny Auntie Sue ! 

Bits-o*- Auntie, with the glow 
Of youth upon you, do you know 
That you are dearer far to me 
Than grander folk could ever be, 
Are dearer, yes, and sweeter far 
Than Princesses and Pages are ! 

1 love you, Auntie, when you sing, 
Or sow the pansies in the spring ; 

I love the touch of your caress, 
Your laughter and your girlishness. 
Your skirts that rustle as you go 
Along the shaded portico ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. ' 133 

Tonight I miss you at the pane 
And follow after you in vain ; 
I wander on from room to room 
And through the garden in the gloom ; 
I brush the flowers, wet with dew, 
But Bits-o' -Auntie, where are you? 

Oh, should I now or ever fail 
To hear you. Auntie, when you hail, 
I'm sure that I should — Yes, indeed! 
Should chase and pound you as you need, 
You cruel, oh, you cunning fox, 
Behind the shaken hollyhocks ! 



134 INLAND WINDFALLS, 



WENA AND I. 

Wena and I, on a summer's night, 

Each in a gossamer shroud, 
Went sailing the crystal rivers of light, 

All on a lavender cloud. 

All on a lavender cloud went we, 

Singing a sailor's tune. 
As we climbed the crests of the misty sea 

That swam to the shoreless moon. 

And up we went through the frightened stars, 

With our hopes and hearts elate, 
And the loud, "Ahoy!" from the startled tars 

Calling our cloud to wait. 

To wait, they called, and to wait, in vain ; 

For the night winds crooned our song, 
As they tugged our sails through a starry lane, 

Speeding us, all night long. 

And all night long I stood at the stern 
With the helm in my right hand — 

Heigh-o ! for the glad young hearts that yearn, 
And the songs of a moonlit land. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 135 

For Wena at rest in the bolstered bow 

Sang low to her faint guitar ; 
' ' O moon, how merry your face and how 

Much better than earth you are. ' ' 

So over the tumbling drift we sped, 

And down the horizon's verge, 
Where the milky way is the watershed 

And the mists and the moonbeams merge. 

But into the lake where lies no mist 

In a flurry of foam, flew we, 
Where the moon hung low in the gulf — O, list ! — 

In the gulf of the pale, gilt sea. 

And we tangled our hands in the twinkling foam 

As over the waves we leaned, 
While low — yo-ho ! — to the leeward comb 

Our lavender cloud careened. 

Then straight and away to the moon's red rim, 

On the swirl of that pale gilt sea — 
Aye, straight and away, while our eyes grew dim 

And the lights burned low on the lee. 

But the face of the moon was a dark, dark face, 
Though the noonday sun shone there. 

And the man in the moon — ^we found no trace 
Of his smile or his tangled hair. 



136 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

So baffled at sight of the fields of gray — 

Baffled and broken and sad — 
We sat ourselves down at the turn of the way 

A lorn little lady and lad. 

"Oh, it's plain that the moon has a mask," said I, 

' ' For no light of her own sheds she ; 
And the man in the moon must be scouring the sky 

With the top of a tamarack tree. ' ' 

But Wena looked once on the eye of the sun. 
And cried through her sorrowful frown : 

"Oh, where are our people, and what have we done? 
Pray, let us set sail and go down. " 

So back on our lavender cloud we sped, 

Sorrowing, Wena and I, 
And the cloud ran wet with the tears that we shed, 

Sailing down out of the sky. 

But Wena sang up to the moon from afar 
(We were sailing by Saucytown Isle) : 

"O moon, what a double-faced fairy you are, 
All dressed in your second-hand smile!" 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 137 



DOWN IN FAIRY DELL. 

Little Dottie Dimplechin, wait a bit and tell 
All the pretty tales you heard down in Fairy Dell, 
All the little whisperings and the trilling words 
Gargled in the cricket's throat and the meadowbird's. 

Tell us how the little birds know the days to sing, 
Know the frosty winter days from the days of spring ; 
How the leaves of summertime, when the summer's old. 
Turn from deepest green, my dear, to crimson and to 
gold. 

Tell us how the angels come, tripping through the blue 
To tip their tiny dippers up, brimming full of dew, 
And how the dewy showers look, twinkling from the 

skies. 
When a body takes them in through a fairy's eyes. 

Tell us Dotty, did you see in your fairy grot 

All the eerie little caves that the imps have got, 

All the homes the bats have found and the naughty 

motes 
That lodge at night in people's eyes and tickle people's 

throats. 



138 INLAND WINDFALLS. 

Did you see the spinning shop where the spider sits, 
And weaves his gauzy web about, and knits and knits 

and knits, 
See him wink his wicked eyes and lick his fuzzy jaws. 
All because a butterfly was coming toward his claws. 

What a host of pretty sights must have met your eyes 
When you dwelt in Fairy Dell under starry skies ; 
What delightful symphonies must have filled your ear 
When you lay awake at night and listened, Dotty dear ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 139 



OUT IN GRAN'MA'S GARDEN. 

Out in gran 'ma's garden, where the roses are, an' where 
The hummin'-birds are hummin' an' the bees are in 

the air, 
I chase the golden orioles an' shake the trellised vines, 
An' holler at the butcher birds among the prickly pines. 
Where hosts of 'em are campin' out an' 'ist a-slayin' 

things 
An' hangin' 'em to lightnin'-rods an' forked sticks an' 

strings ; 
An' gran 'ma says they're wicked birds 'at makes her 

feelin's ache — 
But onct they scared a chicken hawk an* onct they 

slayed a snake ! 

Out in gran 'ma's garden, when the birds begin to 

stir 
An' other folks are still in bed, I go along with her, 
An' tote the lumps o' tinsel an' the little basket too. 
An' tells her when her dress is gettin' draggled in the 

dew; 
And all around the flower beds I hear the scissors snip, 
An' ketch a whoppin' blossom or a tiny little slip ; 
An' some are for the speakers in the graduatin' class, 
An' some are for the sad at heart an' 'em 'at didn't 

pass ! 



140 INLAND WINDFALLS, 

Out in gran'ma's garden once, when little Elsie died, 
My gran'ma made a cross o' white an' trailin' wreaths 

beside, 
An' teacher laid 'em on the desk where Elsie used to sit, 
'Cos now her feet had flown so far she'd not come back 

to it; 
An' 'en we marched, at two o'clock, to Elsie's on the 

hill, 
An' all the rooms were filled with flow'rs an' all the 

folks were still, 
But somewhere there was music mixed with low an' 

sobbin' cries — 
An' chokers crowded in my th'oat, an' tears in teacher's 

eyes. 

Out in gran'ma's garden, it's so curious to know 

The things 'at people likes the best an' why they likes 

'em so; 
'Cos all the growd-up boys an' girls 'at rides an' dances 

lots, 
They likes the reddest roses an' the don't- forget-me- 
nots; 
An' folks 'at's goin' to wed their friends or goin' to 

Easter day. 
They likes the fragrant lilies or the bloomin' aster 

spray — 
An' widders always likes the white an' never likes the 

red, 
'Cos some's to deck the livin' with an' some's to crown 

the dead. 



INLAND WINDFALLS. Ui 



MY PA'S A POPULIST. 

My pa's a populist, an* he 

'1st votes fer silver an' ever'thing free, 

So's 't after election all the men 

'At's pore, '11 live in the White House then ; 

An' bankers an' folks 'at's rich before 

'LI bust wide open an' all git pore! 

An* pa' 'ist hollers fer President Bryan, 
'Cos he's the feller 'at's always a-tryin' 
To he'p the farmer 'at tills the soil. 
An' talks an' talks fer the sons o' toil. 
An' onct he went up an' shooked his fist* 
At the irrun heel o' the capitalist ! 

An' pa says oh ! it's a-goin' to be 
A hard ol' fight fer you an' fer me, 
'Cos all the 'Publicans they're such hogs 
They're drivin' the country clear to the dogs; 
An' likely as not 'fore spring gits 'round, 
They'll sell it to France fer a dumpin' ground: 

It's a serious kind of a time, fer shore. 
An' purt' nigh bad's the civil war: 
But I guess 'at the work my pa's been doin' 
'LI save this Nation f'om wreck an' ruin — 
'Cos ma she laughs as she winks her eye, 
An' says she'll wait till the clouds roll by! 



[42 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



THEM PROFS OF YOURN. 

Hello mister! how-d'y do? 
Guess you'll laugh when I tell you 
'At I know som' gr'a' big men 
Keepin' school where you hav' been — 
One is Clark, an' tother's West, 
Guess I like the fat one best, 
'Cos he tells such funny things 
An' laughs an' laughs until it brings 
Gr'a' big tear-drops in his eyes — 
'N 'en he stops an' never cries — 
Tell you what, 'twas awful queer 
When them profs of yourn was here ! 

When they com' to Kinn'kinnic 
They was all drest up as slick 
As our little baby looked 
When she had her picture tooked; 
But you bet, sir, after while 
They 'ist peeled off all their style, 
'Cos they com' to ketch som' trout 
Where folks won't hav' dudes about, 
Hangin' round behind their mill, 
Diggin' worms where they th'ow swill; 
Jinks! but folks all tho't 'twas queer 
When them profs of yourn was here ! 



INLAND WINDFALLS. 143 

But 'twas funn'est thing of all 

'1st to see or Clarky fall 

When .he climbed a popple tree 

'1st to get som' grapes; an' he 

Didn't laugh no more, you bet! 

But his face 'ist leaked 'ith sweat 

Try'n' to keep the swear words in 

When ol' West, 'ith gr'a' big grin, 

Picked his hat up out the dirt 

An' then told him: "Was he hurt?"— 

Clarky 'ist looked kind of mad 

An' said: "Guess them grapes is bad!" 

Say ! but things all turned out queer 

When them profs of yourn was here ! 

'N 'en when they went home bime-by 
Our hard-man laughed like he'd die, 
'Cos they 'ist had two small fish. 
Awful small, an' I 'ist wish 
'At you'd seen their gr'a' big box 
Plum chock full of ice in blocks, 
'Ith them teenty things inside: — 
'N 'en when they drove off I tried 
'1st to see about how far 
I could tell which ones they are ; — 
But I could'n' tell — try my best; 
Which was hard-man Clark or West ; 
But things don't seem half so queer 
Since them profs of yourn was here ! 



[44 INLAND WINDFALLS. 



MY POPPY'S GONE. 

My poppy's don 
To Oregon 

To see the 'cific ocean; — 
An' he tissed my hair an' tissed my cheek, 
An' tissed ma, too, an' 'ist last week 
In a letter he tissed us bofe, an' tellt — 
Oh! strangest things 'at ever was felt, 

'Cept way in the land o' Goshen! 

An' half way there 
The fields are bare, 

Wiv 'ist but sand an' thistles. 
An' then they's grea' big pines 'at sigh 
When the storm tums up an' the clouds run by; 
An' the air's 'ist good for poppy's cough — 
But oh ! I should fink his hat would blow off 

When the wind 'ist whirs an' whistles! 

But ever so soon 
As it's first of June, 

An' poppy's dot weller an* stronger, 
He'll tum straight home an' 'ist bring me 
A drest-up doll, wiv a hat ; an' he 
Says he'll bring ma 'ist a big fool doll 
'At's dot a mustache an' beard an' all 

An' tant stay away any longer! 



mmxv 



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